in the shade of poison trees
by Mae'side
Summary: Merlin never saw the root sticking out of the mud. He only felt himself falling – and the venom spreading through his veins. A twist on 3x12; Merlin&Arthur friendship with the lovely Gwaine thrown in. Please tell me what you think? Xo, as always


**A/N : I know, I know! Starting up another story when I have so many left unfinished? Yes, I'm horrible. But this story just popped into my head and will be finished within the week, that's a promise. I just had to write this. I had to.**

**I REALLY hope you'll like it! Please please please let me know? Oh, pretty pleaaase?**

**Xo, as always**

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Merlin

Once he stopped to think about it, he realized Arthur was right: the forest, usually so vibrant with birdsong and the heavenly sound of the breeze, was too quiet. They were left in a discomforting green bubble, wandering through dream-like territory. Every step felt like crossing a line, almost expecting something to pop up and scare them half to death.

The arrows were real. The battlecries of men whose sole purpose it was to kill them reached their ears, piercing the very inner core. Merlin ran as fast as he could, hoping to still somehow get a sense of Arthur and Gwaine; so intent on making sure his friends would be safe that he looked behind and not in front. He never saw the root sticking out of the mud. He only felt himself falling – and the venom spreading through his veins.

His head was throbbing with pain while he tried to keep his eyes open, tried to find them through the misty haze of agony. He could make out the silhouettes of people running, but they sparkled in the sunlight and they were not his friends. Fatigue flirted with his vision, beckoning his orbs to join the darkness – it was futile to resist and he was well aware of it – but Arthur needed him now more than ever and he just _couldn't_ give up like this. Merlin crept towards a heavy stone and hauled his body upwards, but he was falling. Deeper and deeper down.

Arthur

He'd always loved to run. When he was a child, his legs had carried him far, _far_ away from his father's anger; into the forest, down to the lake. Uther had hated him for it, had called him a coward. The knights who'd been sent to track him time and time again hadn't been fond of his little habit either. In times like these, however, he was grateful for all those times when he'd been able to escape, only letting the tears fall beside the comfort of the trees.

When he ran, he had one goal – and one purpose. Merlin and Gwaine forgotten, there was only him and the path that lay before him. The arrows never caught up with his feet. And surely, at one time they had to run out, right?

They did – and he turned towards Cenred's soldiers with a newfound vigour. He thought of all his men – all the ones this lot had slain, the innocent blood soaking the mossy ground. Afterwards, the quiet returned, just like it had before. It was then that he knew something still to be wrong, going by the clenching feeling in his gut. Gripping the cup to reassure himself of its presence, the prince returned to where he'd parted from Merlin and Gwaine, his eyes observing every aspect of the forest.

Whatever he'd expected, it wasn't this. The sight of Merlin, slumped against the greyness of the rocks and shivering with fever, made him halt in his tracks. Gwaine was, of course, already by his side, pressing the back of his hand against his forehead, idly searching his bag for some water to cool his friend down. He glanced at Arthur from the corner of his eyes, that never left Merlin's face, and quietly muttered that he suspected the arrow to be poisoned.

"Yes," Arthur said, finally snapping out of his trance, "it must be." He nearly ran to his servant's side, tossing the cup carelessly aside and using the cloth he'd wrapped the artefact in to dab at Merlin's brow. It was soaked within seconds.

"We have to move him," Before Gwaine could protest, he'd already grabbed Merlin, raising him in the air and gently placing him back down onto a soft patch of grass, "and preferably get rid of this." His hands curled around the younger boy's ankles, searching for the entry point of the weapon that caused his friend so much pain. He tugged it, hard – trying his hardest to block the heavy groan that went with it.

Gwaine smiled at him. "You'd make a fine nurse, Pendragon."

Gwaine

The prince didn't bother to reply to his teasing apart from the evil glare he sent his way. Which was fine, because it illustrated all the more what he had doubted before. When he had first met the boys and spent little time with them, he had not understood why Merlin was so loyal – why he went beyond the boundaries of duty for this prattish prince who didn't seem to give him the time of day; who, upon every occasion, vexed him and mocked him as if he really didn't care at all.

Though Gwaine cared a lot about Merlin and hated to see him treated that way, it had been comforting, for it validated all the reasons he'd told himself not to trust a royal. Merlin had been his friend, the _'little man'_, the commoner and the low life. The kind heart who trusted to easily and who cared too much.

Now it seemed Arthur cared just as much about his servant. The look on his face when he stumbled upon Merlin's broken body had said all it needed to. The way he treated him said all the more.

"You know," Gwaine told him later as they sat by the fire (the absence of Merlin's constant chatter painfully obvious to the both of them), "he would go to the ends of the earth for you. And back."

Arthur looked towards where Gwaine was pointing with the little stick he'd rescued from the fire, seeing Merlin's silhouette illuminated by the glow of the flames. "I know," he replied. "He's a good friend."

Gwaine laughed. "Good?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Fine, he's a _great_ friend."

"You probably don't deserve him."

Arthur

The comment was meant to be teasing, but struck a nerve all the same. He was the crown prince of Camelot, which meant that – in his father's eyes – he deserved the loyalty of every single man, woman and child who lived in the kingdom. The King had once remarked that many would die for him; that it was to be expected.

For some reason, Merlin was something else entirely. He didn't really know _how_ to describe Merlin, but it often haunted him at times like these. Because maybe he didn't…deserve him. "You're right," he heard himself say. "I probably don't."

Gwaine gave him the strangest of looks, as if he were trying to gauge Arthur's true feelings – to peer into his soul. _Well, none of that._ "We should probably get some rest," he declared, standing before allowing even the slightest glimpse into his private thoughts.

It was then that a little voice spoke up, a hoarse sound that pierced the air. "_A – Ar..thur_." His eyes snapped towards the trembling form, but Merlin never stirred. Arthur crouched beside him, and spent the whole night on that very same spot, hoping Merlin somehow knew he was there.

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_Oooh, pleaaase tell me (if) you liked it? It would mean the world to me! There's only going to be one more chapter left, and I promise - within the week! _

_Xo, as always - - and thank you._

_Mae'side_


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